“And as this strike’s on,” continued Nevins, “the question for us is—will we aid the men, or help to defeat ’em? If we want to beat ’em, we’ve just got to take the places they’re givin’ up. Things has got to be pretty bad when a working-man leaves his job these days—you know that—so there’s no use discussin’ why they strike. Of course you know the answer of these car companies, and all other companies—‘supply and demand.’ And I’ll tell you what rules the ‘supply and demand.’—It’s the supply of stock and the demand for dividends. It’s greed that makes this demand, and it’s poverty and sickness, and many mouths to feed, that makes the supply. It’s greed, and not decent competition, that milks the companies and busts them, and drags men down to lower wages, or throws them out of work altogether. What we’ve got to do is to demonstrate which side we’re on. If we’re for the men, we must stand off and persuade others to do the like; and if we’re for our children, we must do the same thing. But if we don’t give a damn either for our own people or anybody else, we’d better go and take the places until the companies decide on the next reduction!”
The determination in his voice would have been fierce but for the smile accompanying the words. Half-muffled applause and ejaculations of approval could be heard from different parts of the room.
The man Schrieber looked up, his glance travelling from one face to another down the long room until it reached Bill Nevins and settled on him with an intensity that compelled an answering glance.
“You say, my friend,” he began slowly, “we must demonstrate on which side we stand. So say I. We must demonstrate—but not by waiting. We must make a great spectacle—but not by idle tableaux. You think you will compel these rich corporations to give in to these men by withholding your services? It is an empty dream. There will come other men from other places—you cannot prevent them from coming or the companies from hiring them. The disease is body-spread—you cannot doctor it locally. The longer we sit idle the fiercer will the disease ravage, the deeper will it enter. Idle waiting will not do,—no, nor throwing stones. That will only make a holiday for the militia—stories for their armouries—child’s play, forgotten by the children when the game is over. It does not turn the attention of prosperous humanity towards its suffering brothers, but it gives a pretext for ‘man’s inhumanity to man.’ It only costs a little money—a very little money—easily saved by the corporations in the decreased wages, and made up to the State by increased taxation. It will not do, I tell you. We need a much bigger and a dearer demonstration.”
The speaker had risen, and was gazing into the faces of his auditors. As he paused and brushed the light hair away from his eyes, the air disturbed by the movement sent the smoke cloud blowing about his head.
“Now, that’s just what we don’t want, Schrieber!” broke in Nevins impatiently. “You go ’round raisin’ a row and gettin’ up a riot, and you’ll turn all the sympathy of the press and the public against the people we’re tryin’ to help.”
The man did not reply at once, but stood gazing at the labour leader as though struggling to keep back some retort.
“You do not understand me,” he said at length—“I counsel no violence—I do not advocate riot. But not because I fear to lose the sympathy of the press and the public. You have had that, and with what result? Aren’t wages lower than ever, and isn’t work more difficult to get every day we live? And who is your ‘public’? The few well-to-do who never think unless their comfort’s disturbed? I tell you the real public is the many poor, the constantly increasing poor, and not the few rich! Your demonstration must teach the rich to think—it must redeem the poor from themselves!”
His glance turned from the faces before him, and seemed to centre beyond and above them. The listening men drew closer to the speaker. The room was so still I could hear the empty cable rattling in the street below.